


she looked so good, he looked so sane

by Anonymous



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: But mostly just hurt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 11:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Missing scene from s2: ep9 “Lesser Evils” right after the cage scene as an excuse to whump Quentin just a little bit(WARNING: Spoilers through s2: ep9 and it probably won’t make sense if you haven’t seen that episode)





	she looked so good, he looked so sane

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crosspost from my tumblr from a few months ago, and it was the first fanfic I had posted since about 2015 so I was (and still am) a little rusty. I hope it's enjoyable anyway, I had fun writing it!
> 
> Title is from the lyrics of “Under the Mask of Happiness” by Graham Parker.

“God, he’s so weak,” Alice spat.

Her eyes rolled back, and Julia watched Quentin’s body crumple to the floor.

Now this, this was an interesting development. How was Alice doing that, she wondered. Quentin said she niffined out but…the tattoo. If it could trap something as powerful as a cacodemon, it just might work on a niffin. Meaning he could release her with merely a word.

Julia smiled. Interesting indeed.

“Hey,” She dropped to a crouch and shook Quentin’s shoulder. “Q. Wake up.”

He didn’t stir. Not good. If Quentin died, so did Alice, and Julia lost her advantage. She needed help from someone who might be able to keep him alive until the time was right.

“I’ll be back,” she whispered, then hurried away.

—–

A sunburst of agony behind his eyes dragged Quentin into wakefulness. He heard someone groan, and belatedly realized it was him.

“Q?” said Julia.

He felt her slender hand brush his cheek, the momentary coolness of her fingers soothing. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt weighted down, the surface of his eyes prickly and rough.

“Quentin?” said a deep voice. Dean Fogg. “We’re going to move you to the infirmary beds. Apparently protocol goes out the window when someone is bleeding.”

“Ok,” he said.

His own voice sounded breathy and strange in his ears. He wondered how much blood was in his nasal passages.

“This won’t feel good, but trust me, it’s better than walking. If you don’t want a brain hemorrhage,” said a female voice, presumably Professor Lipson.

“Wait, what won’t f—”

He gasped involuntarily. His stomach lurched.

The world had flipped dizzyingly, and the cool stability of the ground was suddenly gone from beneath him. He concentrated on breathing deeply for a moment to avoid vomiting. A breath caught in his throat and he coughed sharply. Blood that tasted of ozone splashed the back of his throat.

As if incensed at all the movement, the sphere of pain in his head expanded and began pulsing with his heartbeat. He clenched his eyes shut tighter and grasped the air, searching for anything to steady himself but finding nothing. Once he had recovered a shred of composure, he registered that although his spine was held stiff, as if on a backboard, all he felt beneath him was air.

“Sorry, sorry, that was too fast. I really am not an expert in physical magic,” said Lipson from entirely too close to his face. “Now we’re just going to levitate you over to a bed and I’ll see what I can do. Likely nothing, but if you’re not letting Alice out you might as well die comfortable.”

“Hng,” he replied articulately. Professor Lipson was always so tactful.

The pallet of air beneath him began to drift and he moved with it. After what felt like a long time the pallet stopped.

“Ok, let’s get it right this time,” said Lipson.

He felt himself drifting slowly lower until he finally came to rest on a solid but comfortable mattress. Regardless of the pain, exhaustion settled back over him.

“I need…” he said, thoughts already blurring into sleep. “M’gonna…take a nap.”

“You do that,” whispered Julia, breath tickling his ear. “I’ll get you when it’s time.”

“M’kay,” he mumbled.

Wait, he thought. Time for what?

But sleep dragged him under before he could ask her.


End file.
